Silence (161 Mins, 15)

A near three hour film, that took nearly three decades to realise, about 17th Century Portugese Jesuit Priests, partly in Japanese, and based upon a 1966 novel is certainly not the first thing one would associate with Martin Scorsese, undisputed king of the All-American, ever-quotable, ever violent picture. Whilst Kundun, (1997), a biopic of the Dalai Lama, is perhaps the closest both in terms of its focus upon the spiritual and in its attempts to portray the very concept of faith, Silence seems, at first glance, to be new territory for Scorsese-scratch the film's surface, however, and the familiar themes of Scorsese's work, albeit with a lighter, less profane touch, flood to the surface, across perhaps the starkest, if most beautiful film, the director has ever made.

At the heart of this film, and across the surprisingly adaptable shoulders of Andrew (Amazing SpiderMan, Hacksaw Ridge) Garfield, lies the concept of faith, and loss of faith. This comes in several forms; in Garfield's Padre Rodrigues, whose faith is tested throughout the film, both as a free man and a prisoner of the Shogunate, in the lapsed faith of Neeson's Ferreira, one of the infamous fallen priests who renounced Christianity under pain of death, and most notably throughout the film in the faith of the Japanese Christian, Kichijiro, who seems equal parts Judas and Thomas, constantly clearly shaken in his faith but still trying to be a good Christian, whose faith seems to echo and compliment Rodrigues. 

It's easy to suggest that Scorsese's film is a moralising force, (after all, the film premiered in the Vatican), suggesting, through the mouthpiece of Rodrigues, that Christianity has every right to be in Japan as it is across hiS native Europe, and Scorsese certainly does not shrink from showing us the brutality of the Japanese eradication of Christians, from burnings to crucifixion (some of which are harrowing, even by Scorsese standards with their unblinking depictions of violence). One could even extend the suggestion that in his depictions of a persecuted, often underground Christianity in a hostile land, he seeks to evoke the persecution of Christianity today in places like the Middle East and North Africa.

However, Scorsese's story is more complex than that-at points, the increasingly Christ-like
Rodrigues, all matted hair and long beard seems more interested in his own mission, his own journey, his pride, and indeed his own pseudo-crucifixion and martyrdom than in the innocent villagers who are put to death for following a faith that, due to drastic cultural differences they may not even understand. As the most famous quote from the original novel bleakly states, "Japan is a swamp, and nothing takes root"-one could also argue that their fervour of inflicting a foreign faith upon Japan is selfish, dangerous and colonial-the Inquisitor himself notes that Japan is better off governing itself rather than "playing wife" to one or more European powers. Yet there may be more in common between the Buddhist and Christian faiths, particularly through the eyes of Neeson's apostate than the Jesuits first admit. Faith not only underpins this film's journey, it defines it, and Rodrigues' struggles with his beliefs, and indeed himself and his pride, generate, in typical Scorsesian fashion, much of the drama of the film
Against Garfield's fervour, Adam Driver's Garrpe is more doctrinaire, and visably less keen to continue his mission to find the fallen Ferreira, until a pivotal scene that truly shakes Rodrigues to the core, whilst Neeson sits in the centre of the film as both goal and a true test of faith for the wavering Rodrigues. All three are generally well played, although Driver's Portugese accent comes and goes, whilst Neeson's never appears, and indeed Neeson does seem on autopilot "wise man" for good chunks of the film. Garfield is by far the best, going from wide-eyed well-groomed piece to a man truly desparate and mentally as well as physically worn down.
The Japanese cast, particularly the pitiful Kichijiro (played brilliantly as alternatively comic and tragic by Yōsuke Kubozuka) and the interpreter (another great role by Tadanobu Asano), seem far more rounded in the film than their European counterparts, whilst the Inquistor (Issei Ogata) is a perfect and dryly droll foil to the fiery Garfield. 

Silence's biggest issue (aside from its slightly dodgy accents) is its length-at a slow-paced 161 minutes there were multiple times in the cinema when watching this when people in the rows below checked watches or phones, and with often painstaking detail to not only the Japanese culture but also Christian doctrine, it often feels like the film is making as slow a progress as Driver and Garfield are. There are certainly moments towards the end of the film, where a cut of a few minutes could have made it a leaner film-there is also the fact that Scorsese feels, in places, like a director stretching his material a little too thin, lingering a little too long on the scenery, or on scenes of violence that feel as gratuitous as anything from his more popcorn-friendly films. Yet, there is a certain majesty to the film, with many vistas showing Garfield dwarfed by the scenery.

And it's these shots that sum Silence up best, the Buddhist, human-centric Japan, represented by the cries of cicadas that open and close the film, hemming in the man speaking to God and getting no reply, only the sounds of the inhospitable and dangerous country around him. This may not be Scorsese's most radical picture, or his most quotable, but it's certainly his most soul-searching, and a testament to his dedication as a director.

Rating: Recommended